Hear You Me
by HopefulNebula
Summary: Trip grieves. T'Pol comforts and makes an important decision along the way. Entry in the House of Tucker fic contest; no shippage


Title: Hear You Me

Author: HopefulNebula (HopefullyNebulous@yahoo.com – note the address change!)

Rating: PG for swears.

Summary: Trip grieves.  T'Pol comforts him and evaluates her relationship with the rest of the Enterprise crew.  Set during "The Expanse."

Category: Drama

Disclaimer: Did you hear the one about the guy who owned Enterprise?  Neither have I, because I'm not him.

Spoilers: The Expanse (obviously), as well as some mild references to a boatload of other episodes.

~~~~~

_and if you were with me tonight_

_I'd sing to you just one more time_

_a song for a heart so big God wouldn't let it live_

_may angels lead you in_

_hear you me, my friend_

_on sleepless roads the sleepless go_

_may angels lead you in_

~"Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World

~~~~~

            Trip hadn't even tried to sleep since he'd heard about the attack.  Especially when he'd been told that it had cut from Florida to Venezuela.  _Florida to Venezuela.  _Florida… _What part of Florida? Why couldn't it have been anywhere else?  Why did it have to be some unknown part of Florida?  Lizzy lived in La Belle, right in the middle of things.  If it had cut through there…  Trip prayed it hadn't._

            The door chimed, interrupting Trip's pacing through his quarters.  For a moment he froze, fearing who or what was outside.  The second chime brought him to reality, though, and he bade his visitor to enter.

            "Come in," he said.

            Trip considered briefly how loud the doors really were and whether there was any way to fix that.  The noise as they opened to expose Captain Archer was maddening.  Before Trip could speak—before the doors had even closed completely—Archer spoke.

            "I have bad news, Trip.  Two things."  Trip remained silent, eyes not moving from Archer.  His hands were clasped behind his back and he stood rigidly.  He was definitely afraid, Archer decided.  "First of all, they've updated the number of casualties.  It's up to six million."

            "My God," Trip whispered, nearly inaudibly.  He had always wondered how people felt after any bloody attack, after Pearl Harbor or Tian An Men Square, or any part of World War Three.  And now he knew.  Ignorance really _was bliss._

            "But, Trip—Admiral Forrest just called.  He gave me a list of cities that were destroyed, or almost destroyed.  Havana and Montego Bay were decimated.  So were Cartagena and Merida.  And Trip…" Archer swallowed, reluctant to continue.  "La Belle is on the list, too.  There's no word about _who—that is, have you heard from—"_

            "No.  I haven't.  I probably won't again, either.  Is there anything else, Captain?"  asked Trip, who was visibly attempting not to collapse or cry.  Not only his knees, but his entire body was trembling in tiny sobs of despair and helplessness.

            "No, Trip.  I'm sorry."  There was no reply, so Archer left Trip on his own.

            And that was it.  Lizzy was dead.  His baby sister—whom he had worked so hard to protect since the day she first closed her tiny, premature hand around his ten-year-old thumb—was gone, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.  He was now as vulnerable as she had always been.  Trip collapsed roughly down onto the nearest available surface and closed his eyes, wishing he didn't know where in Florida the Xindi had attacked.

~~~~~

            "Trip… Trip! Wait."

            "Don't talk to me, _Lieutenant_.  I'm not stopping for you," Trip replied, intentionally emphasizing Malcolm's rank.  He really didn't want another confrontation like he'd just dealt with, or rather _created, in the Armory.  He didn't want to talk to Malcolm, or anybody else.  He didn't want to do anything but sleep, and he wasn't even able to do that.  He'd go to Phlox for medication if he found it necessary, but he also didn't want to face the barrage of questions and well-meaning suggestions that a visit to Sickbay meant._

            "All right, _Commander_.  You can run a bloody marathon for all I care.  But I'm going with you."

            Trip's irritation was becoming more and more evident now, and there was something else in his expressions and motion: something fierce and dark and entirely unapproachable, so unlike the Trip who Malcolm considered a friend.  So while Malcolm stayed near enough to Trip to speak and be heard, he didn't get any closer than he had to.

            "Reed, I just need time alone right now.  Get off my ass!"  Trip barked.

            "That's funny; I don't recall ever being _on_ your ass."  It wasn't at all funny to Trip.  "I'm worried about you, Trip.  We're all worried about you.  You seriously don't think everybody on this ship doesn't know how you've been lately?  You're a _wreck_.  _Look_ at yourself.  Honestly, Trip.  How long do you think you can live like this?"

            "Longer than Lizzy did," snapped Trip, who stopped without warning in the middle of the corridor.  "Get the hell away from me, Lieutenant.  That's an order."

            "No."  Malcolm stood defiantly in front of Trip, stretching his spine to look taller.

            The engineer tensed, raising one arm and showing his fist.  "Go.  _Now," he repeated, and something in his eyes and stance made Malcolm capitulate.  Weapons enthusiast as he was, he knew better than to pick a fight.  As he continued down the hallway, an idea came to him.  __He may think he's won the fight, but I have eighty other people on my side, he realized.  __And his side, too.  Malcolm smiled and found the door of his first ally.  He'd talk with everyone on board the ship if he had to, but he was going to help Trip._

~~~~~

            T'Pol's doorchime was ringing.  She rose elegantly from her bed, where she had been reading a philosophy text that had always been a favorite of hers, and bade her visitor to enter, for she had left her door unlocked.

            "Sub-Commander?" Malcolm Reed inquired without preamble as he stepped into T'Pol's quarters and looked around to find their occupant.  She was still clad in her uniform, and she looked rather tense.  

            "Yes, Lieutenant?"

            "I was wondering… have you observed how Commander Tucker has been lately?"

            "If you are referring to his reaction to the death of his sister, then yes, I am aware of it."

            "Well, I've been worrying about him.  He's been acting… _differently_ lately.  I've spoken to a lot of his other friends over the past week or so, and they all agree."  Malcolm's voice was full of well-hidden worry.

            "Have you spoken to the commander yourself?"

            "Yes.  Our dealings of late have been… counterproductive at best," he replied.

            "It was my understanding, Lieutenant Reed, that a temporary change of behavior is an integral part of the human process of mourning," which was a process that T'Pol did not envy.

            "Yes, but his behavior of late has been rather extreme, to the point of being self-destructive.  He's pushing everyone away when it's obvious that he needs to say something to someone.  He isn't letting anyone get too near him.  If they do, he snaps at them.  He threatened to hit me just a little while ago.  And usually when something bad happens, he's the first to talk it out."  That _was_ odd for the normally gregarious engineer.  T'Pol was beginning to see the source of Malcolm's agitation.

            "Is there anything else?"

            "Let me see… Chef and the stewards haven't seen him in the mess hall very often.  I suppose you've noticed he hasn't been eating with you and the captain, either?  Well, for a few days over the last few weeks, he just hasn't shown up.  Sometimes, he'll just get to the door of the mess and then turn around—I've seen him do that.  Lieutenant Hess said that he just left Engineering yesterday in the middle of his shift.  Trip never misses a shift, even when he's ill."  That was all T'Pol needed.  Something _was_ wrong, and it was her job to find a way to help her colleague.

            "Thank you, Lieutenant.  I will do what I can to help Commander Tucker," T'Pol told Malcolm, who visibly relaxed before he rose and left.  T'Pol lingered in her quarters only long enough to determine Trip's location, and as soon as she knew where to go, she was gone.

~~~~~

            Trip was staring at the mostly empty bottle, but not registering its existence.  He was just staring.  Anything to focus on but Lizzy, or the image of La Belle as a crater full of water, the charred skeletons and memories that used to be his hometown, the place he went to middle and high school…

            He had no idea how long he or the bottle and glass stayed there, unmoving.  It was late.  That didn't matter anymore.  And it wasn't like Malcolm had been any help, either.

            Eventually, Trip took another swig of his drink.  His glass was empty, and there was just enough left in the bottle for one more glass.  Just one more.  But he didn't want to pick it up.  It somehow looked as if it belonged right where it was, and he wasn't about to disturb it.

            The door opened.  Trip's head hurt with the sound.  He really _would have to look into lowering their volume.  At least this time, he didn't have to deal with the doorbell.  The mess hall was a public place.  Finally, he looked up._

            "What do you want, T'Pol?"  His words were sharper than he had intended for them to be, but he really didn't care.

            "I need to speak with you, Commander."  There was no reply from Trip, so T'Pol sat gently down across from him.  "I wish to express my sincerest condolences for the loss of your sister.  However, there is another reason I am here.  Your behavior of late has been… erratic.  Several friends of yours have come to me worrying about your condition.  You have obviously not been sleeping as much as you should.  You are—"

            "I get it, I _get_ it.  My baby sister was just killed.  What do you expect from me?  Do you want me to just… go on like nothing ever happened?  Like Lizzy and seven million others weren't murdered?"

            T'Pol had no answer for him.  How could a person reply to such a question?  And suddenly, she knew one way she could answer him.

            "I expect you to take care of yourself.  This ship cannot function without you."

            "Thanks, _mom.  I'll go sit in the corner and think about that.  Is there anything else you want me to do?"  This time Trip was being __too short with her, and he knew it.  After a moment of tensely humming silence, he spoke again.  "Geez, I'm sorry, T'Pol.  I didn't mean to hurt your feelings…"_

            "Be assured, you did not.  You are under an inordinate amount of stress, so your actions are justifiable.  I am simply… concerned about your well-being.  Other crewmembers have also expressed their concerns to their commanding officers, who have reported to me."

            "Why'd you be so concerned?" Trip asked.  "I mean, you're leaving as soon as we get to Vulcan anyway.  I just might pack up and leave myself.  Why do you care about my well-being?"

            "The fact that I am leaving is irrelevant.  Until I leave, I am still this ship's first officer, and it is therefore my duty to ensure the safety of its officers. Your behavior is obviously self-destructive, and I have no intention of letting you harm yourself."

            Trip had no direct reply to this, so he just nodded.  After a few moments of silence, T'Pol spoke once again.

            "You and your sister were very close, weren't you?"

            "Yeah," Trip replied sadly.  His anger at T'Pol had mostly subsided by this point and was being quickly replaced by everything else he had ever felt.  He was too overwhelmed by all the anger and despair and love for his sister and everything else that was bombarding his consciousness to stay that angry at her.  "I was ten when she was born, so we weren't so close in age.  But she'd follow me around all the time when she was little.  Lizzy thought I'd hung the moon.  I hated it at first, but then I really started loving her.  She's told me things that not even our parents know.  I have some pictures of her somewhere—" here he rummaged through his chest pockets, finding the pictures that had always been there.  "Here they are.  This was the day she was born," Trip said, passing T'Pol a photograph that depicted a ten-year-old blond boy with unkempt hair and a scraped elbow holding a newborn infant in his lap and grinning up at the camera.  "Bridget took that one.  She's my other sister; she's older than I am."

            "How many siblings do you have?" T'Pol inquired.  She was slightly surprised at herself; she had known this man for two years and hadn't even known that he'd had a sister until Archer had told her why Trip was so insistent on finding out what part of Florida had been attacked.  But she should have extrapolated; she'd known that he'd had a nephew in Ireland, and by extension, at least one sibling.  T'Pol listened to Trip as she decided that her lapse was forgivable.

            "Bridget's the oldest; she's 39.  She's the one who lives in Ireland with two children.  I'm the second one, and the first guy.  Derek's 30.  And so is Michael; they're twins.  But not identical, though.  Derek is in med school right now; he's in Chicago.  And Michael is a writer; he's living in Canberra.  Says the humidity was too much for him.  And then there's—" his voice cracked slightly—"Lizzy; she's—she _was—twenty-five.  Here's one of her at her last birthday.  I couldn't visit her because I was out here."  A flash of something, everything—regret, disappointment, anger, sorrow, pain—became more and more evident in his voice after he mentioned his younger sister.  But there was also happiness, which affirmed T'Pol's belief that Trip was extremely close to his family.  He had become more upbeat while describing his other family members.  She wished she could have said the same for herself._

            Trip passed another photograph across the table.  Several faces smiled up at T'Pol, most of whom had light hair and wide grins.  Only a few people didn't look like Tuckers.  There was a brightly decorated cake with twenty-five candles on top of it in front of the entire group.  T'Pol made a mental note to look up the purpose of birthday cakes before she left.

            "My parents are in back," Trip supplied.  The elderly couple with graying hair had a contented air; they were happy to be around those whom they loved.  "Bridget and Kieran—that's her husband—are on the left.  They came back to Florida just for her birthday.  That's Derek and his boyfriend on the right, and Michael's next to them.  And Lizzy's in the center, right behind the cake."

            T'Pol had no idea what to say in response to this.  Luckily for her, Trip absolved her of any need to fill the silence.

            "What kills me is, the last time we saw each other face to face, we were fighting.  What a cliché that is.  But it's true.  She didn't want me to leave.  She told me… she said… 'Trip, you've spent twenty-three years protecting me.  Now it's my turn.'  She said it was too dangerous out here and she didn't want to lose me.  'You have no idea what's out there!' she told me.  God, if only she knew.  If only she'd known we'd be out here, on the way to some cosmic Bermuda Triangle, a place we know absolutely zero about, trying to stop the bastards who killed her from hurting more people.  But I told Lizzy—I even remember the exact words I said—I told her, 'Elizabeth Anne Tucker, the reason I'm going on Enterprise is exactly because we have no idea what's out there.  I have to go.  I can't stay protecting you forever.  You've been holding me back all your life.  No matter what I've done, I've had to protect you.  And I'm sick of it.'  And then she started crying.  Not really crying, just tearing up, you know?"  Yes, T'Pol knew.  It was exactly what Trip was doing right then.  "And then I started yelling at her.  I said that since she was twenty-three years old, she should be stronger than that.  I said that I was sick of taking care of her all the time, and that it was good that I was leaving because she could finally be on her own.  I told her she was weak.  And she wasn't… she was never weak.  Never.  You know, when she was seven, she climbed up this huge tree we had in our backyard.  And I hadn't even climbed as high as she did.  And she was alone when she fell—not from the top, thank God.  When they were setting the bones, she didn't even cry.  She's not weak…

            "Damn, I was so stupid.  I was so stupid to have said that to her.  I wish I could have hugged her right then and taken her here with me, where I could be sure she was safe.  I wish…"  There was no point in wishing, so Trip aborted this sentence, took a moment to pretend to compose himself, and started again.  "But the worst part is, when I left her house, I told her that I never wanted to talk to her again.  I guess I got my wish.  By the time I apologized, I was out here.  We only wrote to each other after that…  My God, I miss her.  Would it have killed that future guy to let us know we'd be attacked before seven million people were killed?"  The tears leaving their tracks on Trip's cheeks reflected the starlight from the windows, and the effect of the light would have been strangely pretty had T'Pol noticed it.  But she was too focused on Trip's words to observe her surroundings.  The immediate presence of such raw despair was nearly overwhelming T'Pol's control, but she knew she had to stay.  Trip needed to confide in her the way she had confided in him when she'd had a crisis to confront—unwillingly at first, but to the advantage of both later.  She had to listen, and the listening was not the burden T'Pol would have expected it to be.  T'Pol was helping a friend, and this was no burden at all.  It was a necessity.

            T'Pol had learned of the power friendship could hold early during her service on Enterprise by observing the relationship between Commander Tucker and Captain Archer.  Their friendship had baffled her at first; the connection between them was not of a type T'Pol had encountered before then.  As she became increasingly welcome on Enterprise, however, she continued observing how the two worked together.  After nearly two years, T'Pol had concluded that the bond of friendship between the two was one of the things that kept Enterprise running as well as it did.  They were unfailingly loyal to one another; one would help the other when he needed it; they watched sports together and playfully argued over which team would be the victor; they anticipated each other's needs and orders and were nearly always correct.  The relationship between the two friends was very strong indeed, and the bond of friendship between Tucker and Lieutenant Reed was also quite pronounced—or at least had been after the incident on Shuttlepod One.

            And, T'Pol realized, Ambassador V'Lar had been right.  She was not only a friend of Archer's but of Tucker's as well.  The bond between them was as strong as anything she had ever felt, but not emotional in nature.  Friendship was not an emotion, she mused, but more of a state of being.  She did not have to suppress this, nor did she wish to.  And with this realization—the stunning yet simultaneously totally unsurprising revelation that she was a friend of Trip's—she knew what she could do.  And she knew something else as well.  T'Pol of Vulcan knew suddenly that she would stay aboard Enterprise because she had friends there who, she realized with only the slightest resistance, were closer to her than anybody on Vulcan was, including her parents.  But this was hardly the most germane time to publicize her decision, not when Trip was her current focus.

            "Mr. Tucker…" T'Pol began after a moment.  Though the decision to do this was rather easy for her, she still was a bit unsettled by the dark, wild look in his eyes.  It was as if the jovial, outgoing Trip Tucker had died and been replaced by this despair.  T'Pol found herself missing the older one and determined herself to help him live again.  "Perhaps it would help you overcome your grief if I taught you to meditate."

            Trip's reaction surprised her.  "God, T'Pol, you Vulcans think you're the best, most goddamn enlightened things in the universe, don't you?  Just because you don't have emotions—"

            Here T'Pol opened her mouth to protest—after all, Vulcans had emotions, and she of all people knew it exceptionally well—but was shouted down by Tucker, who was becoming increasingly angry with every word, though his volume remained seethingly low.  His voice carried poison, and T'Pol found herself struggling again.  Her instincts told her to get away from him because he was as dangerous as he had been that day in the cave, or perhaps even more so; however, she knew she had to stay and help him.  It was her duty as both first officer and friend.  And his well-being _was important to her._

            "doesn't mean the rest of us shouldn't.  Honestly.  Losing Lizzy hurts, but I don't want to just not feel anything about it.  I have to feel this.  I need to feel this, T'Pol.  Who the hell are you to waltz in here and tell me what I _should_ be feeling?"

            "Meditation would not alter—"

            "What I should feel doesn't matter.  What I _do feel does!"  Trip let out a mirthful snorting sound.  "And here I thought you were __starting to be my friend.  And then you do this to me.  I tell you something I've never even told Jon, and what do you do?  You tell me that I shouldn't be feeling like I do.  What a bitch you really are.  You're worse than one of those goddamn grief counselors back on Earth.  You know what?  Get the hell out.  Just.  Get.  Out," Trip breathed slowly.  The fact that he was doing all he could to avoid punching her was painfully obvious to T'Pol, who found it best at the moment to avoid the volatile man's wrath by following his instructions._

~~~~~

            It was only during his conversation with Archer several minutes later that Trip realized how many apologies he owed T'Pol.  Trip hadn't meant to tell the captain that he'd miss T'Pol, though.  Not at first.  He'd opened his mouth to say how glad he was she'd be leaving, and the truth found its way out before Trip's lie.  He'd made up for his lapse a few moments later when he insulted T'Pol's stance on noninterference, and even that had been halfhearted.

            Trip mentally rehearsed the possibilities of his upcoming conversation with T'Pol.  Whether it ended badly or well was surprisingly important to him, considering that in only a few days she would be gone from his life.

            And he knew why, too.  He wanted to tell T'Pol goodbye and thank her for her caring and for the risks she'd taken for Enterprise over the past two years.  He wanted to be on good terms with her when she left.  He wouldn't make his mistake again; he'd been hurt by it once already and was damned if he'd do it again.  He just needed a bit of time to cool down.  And it wouldn't hurt him if he was a bit more sober when he talked to her.  _First thing tomorrow morning, he decided, _I'll talk.  Even if I can't sleep, I'll wait.  It's better for both of us that way.__

            Unfortunately, things didn't work out that way for Trip, who found himself wandering his too-small quarters in order to distract himself from his own thoughts.  Nothing in his area served to dissuade him from everything he was feeling.  T'Pol had been nothing but kind to him, and he'd called her a bitch in return.  She'd been right, Trip realized.  He had been acting dangerously, doing everything he could to not stay friends with anyone.  What a jerk he'd been.  There was no way he'd be able to wait to talk to her.  Not if he wanted to at least keep her friendship for the next few days.

~~~~~

            Trip's words were still stinging inside T'Pol nearly two hours later, and they were too strong to be driven out just yet.  This is why, after a failed attempt to meditate, she found herself holding the same book she had been perusing when Lieutenant Reed had brought Trip's problem to her attention. She wasn't reading, however, but simply looking at the words and allowing them to pass without her paying attention to them.  Every once in a while she would chide herself for her lack of focus, but would lapse again in a minute.  There was simply no way she could do anything.  She was in limbo between waking and sleep, between Enterprise and Vulcan, between being a friend and an enemy, and she felt paralyzed by it.

            And then, for the second time that night, the doorchime interrupted her.

            "Enter," she called softly.

            The first three words Trip said as the doors closed were "I'm sorry, T'Pol." 

            "Your actions earlier this evening were… understandable, but I appreciate your apology nonetheless."

            "I really shouldn't have said any of what I did to you… Well, maybe just a little of it," he joked, attempting a smile.  "I definitely shouldn't have called you a bitch.  You're not one.  If you were, you wouldn't have cared about me at all, and you do."  And it had only taken Trip two years to accept that.

            Damn, he would miss T'Pol.  She had done so much for him and Enterprise over the past two years.  She had saved his life more times than he could remember; she had guided him through psychotropic pollen and every illusion he had subsequently created for himself; she had constantly challenged his preconceptions; she had confided in him some of her deepest secrets; she had even seen a movie during her time on Enterprise.  She'd become one of his best friends, and he'd only realized it just then.

            "T'Pol," Trip continued, "I… I'm really sorry for what I said to you.  I really just came to say that.  And—I mean, if you weren't leaving so soon—I'd probably want to take you up on your offer."  The venom T'Pol had detected in his voice earlier in the evening had left.  He still sounded different than he had before the attack—his voice was laced with grief, anger and several other emotions T'Pol could not identify—but he was tamer.  Trip was healing.

            "I take it this means you are staying on Enterprise?" T'Pol inquired.  Upon Trip's questioning look, she clarified: "You mentioned something about 'packing up and leaving' earlier."

            "Oh, that.  Yeah.  I didn't really mean that either.  I've really spent way too much time getting to know everybody here to just push them away like that."  Trip said this before he realized exactly what it meant.  Oh, shit.  He had a _lot_ more apologies to make.  "But I was wondering… maybe, before we reach Vulcan, you could give me one lesson?  I'm sure Hoshi could help me with the rest, and I can read about it in the database.  If they'll let us keep that.  I'd like to learn at least a little from you, though."  He had no idea why this was so important to him, but it was.  Perhaps it would be confirmation that T'Pol had forgiven him, perhaps something different entirely.  Perhaps he just wanted to spend time with her before she left.  He didn't know.  Trip stood still against the bulkhead as he awaited T'Pol's reply.

            "Perhaps we can arrange for more than that.  Are your Wednesday evenings generally free?"

            "That's no good; you're—"

            "I have… revised my decision to return to Vulcan.  Enterprise needs me more than the High Command does."

            "Damn!"  The smile on Trip's face was neither forced nor artificial; it was his first real smile in weeks.  It was as if all the tension he'd been feeling was melting.  Granted, the process was far from complete, but the ice inside him was beginning to melt.  The sun was finally coming out.

            "Commander?  Are Wednesdays acceptable for you?"  T'Pol inquired as if Trip hadn't asked her about her decision.

            "Sure.  They're fine.  Listen, I've got to go.  Thank you for everything, T'Pol."

            "You are welcome, Mr. Tucker.  I trust you will attend better to your own needs than you have been."  Trip suppressed a small paroxysm of laughter; this was typical T'Pol.  Things really _were becoming normal again._

            "Sure.  I guess I have to, if you're going to be looking after me," Trip replied.

            "I have also not yet informed the captain of my decision.  Please keep it a secret until after I have spoken to him," she continued.

            "OK.  I'd better go apologize to Malcolm before he gets to sleep."  Trip idly wondered if she knew about the incident in the corridor, but she gave no indication that Malcolm had told her.  "Thanks, T'Pol."  And the doors opened and closed, and T'Pol began preparing for sleep.  Tomorrow would be a good day indeed, she thought with satisfaction.  And then she had another idea.

~~~~~

            When the doors to Malcolm's quarters opened, Malcolm said, "Trip, the first words out of your mouth had better be 'I'm sorry, Malcolm.'"

            "I'm sorry, Malcolm.  But I'm starting to feel better now.  At least I won't be trying to hurt you."

            And Malcolm knew his plan had worked.  Things would be all right… eventually.  Right now, they could talk a little.

            "I know how it feels, Trip.  I saw my older brother's boat capsize when I was six."  Trip was surprised at this revelation.  So _that was why Malcolm was afraid of drowning.  And what he'd just revealed proved to Trip that he hadn't damaged their friendship at all; if anything, it had been strengthened because they had both felt the same grief in their lives.  Malcolm had trusted Trip with something so deeply a part of him that their friendship had to be intact.  "Remember…" continued Malcolm quietly.  If the subject of their conversation had been anything else, his tone of voice would have seemed uncharacteristic.  "If you ever do want to, you know, __talk about things, feel free."_

            "Thanks, Mal.  I'm about talked out for now.  Think I'll hit the sack."  It was amazing how much energy the day had taken from him.  And not just energy, but also the adrenaline which had been his main form of sustenance of late—there was no way he'd _not_ be sleeping in thirty minutes' time.

            "All right.  Sleep well."

            And just like nothing had happened that day, Trip left.  Everything else could wait.

~~~~~

            When Trip got back to his quarters, there was a surprise outside his door.  It was the same kind of reusable plastic container that the mess hall stocked for people wishing to take food outside the dining area.  This particular box was among the smallest ones stocked by the galley, but still large enough for it to contain nearly anything.

            The engineer was far to curious to consider anything except opening it up as he entered his quarters.  Immediately the scent of tart cherries mixed with sugar and a bit of cinnamon overwhelmed his olfactory sense: somebody had sent him a slice of cherry pie, packaged neatly along with a fork and napkin.  Trip smiled, only then realizing how long it had been since he had eaten last —at least forty hours—and was only then absolutely certain that everything would eventually be all right.  After all, there was pie.  Soon afterward, there would be sleep, and tomorrow there would be breakfast.  And definitely a shower.  And he'd have to thank T'Pol for her kindness in sending him the piece of pie.

            He ate in silence, and surprisingly Trip's thoughts seemed to start obeying his demands that they leave him alone.  His dreams still plagued him, but the nightmares were now different, more tolerable somehow.  They'd been restrained by the power of two of his closest friends.  Trip was still ready to strangle any Xindi he met in the Delphic Expanse or out of it, but the anger was no longer stronger than he was, and all because T'Pol and Malcolm had lent him their strength.  He finally had strength enough to live once again.

~~~~~

END

~~~~~


End file.
